


When I Touch You

by Kat_Rowe



Series: Who Needs Heaven (when we have each other)? [8]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale loves his magic tricks, Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demisexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), I mean it's Good Omens, M/M, Public Display of Affection, Queer Themes, Soft Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), and sometimes uses them to deliver life lessons, feeding the ducks, of course it's as queer as a tree full of monkeys on nitrous oxide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:54:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kat_Rowe/pseuds/Kat_Rowe
Summary: Aziraphale no longer feels shy about expressing his feelings in public, or about simply stating them outright. To Crowley, the fact that his angel enthusiastically does both within the course of a few minutes during a morning at Saint James's Park feels like both a major victory and a natural result of their evolving relationship.(The fact that it also serves as a teachable moment is simply a bonus to the Guardian Angel of the world's queer and questioning community.)By the way, holding hands? Waaaay better than Crowley thought it would be.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Who Needs Heaven (when we have each other)? [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1657927
Comments: 31
Kudos: 101





	When I Touch You

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Zorianne for the beta-work, as always. 
> 
> Title is taken from a lyric to the Beatles song "I Wanna Hold Your Hand" (1963). Said lyric runs: 
> 
> _And when I touch you  
>  I feel happy inside  
> It's such a feeling that, my love,  
> I can't hide_

The ducks were quite eager today, and Crowley idly contemplated teasing them a bit. Nothing genuinely harmful or traumatizing, of course, only enough to get a shocked reaction from Aziraphale. The angel had been away for three days that seemed longer than most, attending a convention of book dealers in Luxembourg, and only arrived home late last night. Or, more accurately, very early this morning. 

They’d just come from a lovely breakfast, and the angel was wearing the kind of peaceful smile that could light up a whole room. Or, in this case, a whole park. It was an expression he wore more and more lately, and it warmed something in Crowley’s chest that had been chilly for far too long. But, at the same time, it was so much _fun_ to watch the angel fuss and flutter over his little acts of mischief. And those fondly tolerant expressions when he reproved Crowley… 

There had been times when those almost-tender looks had been an aching demon’s only lifeline, fond memories to help him through the really rough nights. But rough nights weren’t the norm any more and, even if they didn’t share a bed _all_ the time, the knowledge that he was always welcome in the little flat above the bookshop made the bad nights much easier to bear. Crowley didn’t need a lifeline any more because, for the first time since his Fall, he no longer felt like he was drowning. 

So the ducks were safe today, and he smiled as he helped himself to another of the rolls they’d liberated on their way out of the Ritz, ripping off a piece and tossing it into the water.

“You’re in a good mood today,” Aziraphale noted, smiling over at him.

“It’s a good day. I’m enjoying it,” he answered, shrugging.

“I’m glad. I missed you, dear.”

“And I was grateful for some peace,” he teased, smirking. “Did you at least get some good books while you were away?”

“A few.” He nodded faintly and couldn’t entirely keep the smile off his face as he confided, “And I met a dealer in Regency and Georgian _first editions_. Do you know how hard it can be to find some of those?”

Crowley had badly missed Aziraphale, but a few days apart was a small price to pay to see his angel so gleeful. Grinning, he suggested, “Why don’t you tell me? I’ve never been good at figuring out which books are precious and which belong on the recycle list.”

“Well, if the publisher wasn’t sure a book would sell, they’d only print a small number of books. For some, there were so few that it can be almost impossible to find undamaged copies!”

Chuckling, Crowley asked, “And now you’ve found someone who has a few?”

“Yes! He even had a few Burton editions.”

“Burton, huh?” The name was familiar, but he couldn’t place it. From Aziraphale’s excitement, they must have been a wonderful find. Chuckling, he teased, “Do you have to step into this bloke’s windowless black van before he’ll let you have a look?”

The angel frowned blankly for a moment, then blushed, clearing his throat and turning his head away for a moment. When he looked back, he smiled shyly up at Crowley, whispering, “You needn’t be concerned. He may have tried to set me up with his nephew, but I made it very clear to him that I was perfectly happy with my current boyfriend.”

“Your _boyfriend_?” Crowley repeated with a smile, raising an eyebrow. “You said that to him?”

Still looking shy, the angel lifted his chin a bit, locking eyes with Cowley as he quietly confided, “Actually, I called you my lover and explained that I could never find joy in arms other than yours.” 

He blinked at that, warmth blossoming in his chest as he smiled at the angel, his angel. “Really? And what did he say to that?”

“He laughed, admitted I was too good for his nephew, and invited us to visit him if the two of us are ever in Italy. He thought you might enjoy discussing gardening with his wife while he and I discussed books,” Aziraphale chuckled, biting his lip and wearing a sheepish expression.

“You told him I enjoy gardening?”

The angel colored, clearing his throat. “I… Well, I mean… at professional gatherings, people tend to talk about their lives and families as well as their businesses…”

 _Families._ Crowley experienced a fleeting wish that they were alone, because he wanted to draw the angel close and spend at least an hour or two kissing him.

“You don’t mind, do you?” Aziraphale asked quietly, fidgeting. 

“Angel, of course I don’t mind,” he chuckled, smiling and shaking his head. “If I had professional colleagues, I’d tell them all about my fussy, old fashioned, kind-hearted, absentminded, food-obsessed bibliophile.” Crowley shook his head, aware that the ducks were squawking indignantly at them but hardly caring. _Mine. My angel. My Aziraphale._ He could definitely get used to that thought. “Any bread left?”

“Oh! Oh, of course,” Aziraphale answered, quickly offering the bag again. “Sorry, dears,” he added to the ducks, handing Crowley another roll and helping himself to what looked like the last one in the bag. “Don’t you mind us old sillies one bit,” he added as he began methodically plucking off bits of bread and tossing them to the waiting birds.

The two fell into an easy silence after that, as they had so many times in the past. Sometimes, extended silence between them was significant. Today, they were just enjoying each other’s company. They enjoyed talking and always had but, after 6,000 years, they seldom had much that was new to say to each other. Sure, they could have discussed rare volumes, or the weather in London, or the idea of building a small garden on the roof of the bookshop, or the new wards Aziraphale had added to Crowley’s flat. But those conversations were all optional and the silence was soothing. After the birth of the Antichrist, many of their discussions had been fraught. Silence could be a welcome reminder that there were no new crises on the horizon, that they could just relax and take their time now. For now, at least.

The park was crowded, and Crowley kept one eye, one ear, and half his brain on their surroundings. More than half predator, and with far too many enemies to name, he always did and probably always would. But the other half of his attention was completely fixed on this quiet, friendly moment with Aziraphale. Ducks splashed around, making encouraging sounds whenever the flow of bread slowed for even a second, and then happy noises as more food splashed into the water. Next to him, Aziraphale’s movements were crisp and efficient as ever, but his breathing was slow and steady, calm. And the angel’s _smell_. It wasn’t fair for anyone to smell so good, so clean and bright. Not that he was complaining, of course. If you were going to spend eternity with someone, it might as well be with someone who smelled like warm wind playing through the grass on a sunny day. It was quite ridiculously comforting.

He’d been a snake once; his sense of smell was acute, and things that were warm and sunny would never fail to appeal to him. It was why he’d spent every night during Aziraphale’s absence in the angel’s bed, face pressed into his pillow. Drinking in his scent. And, during those same nights, Aziraphale had been telling others about Crowley, speaking of him as his lover, his _family_. He wanted to wrap himself around the angel, covering his face with kisses and caressing his wings as he made Aziraphale repeat everything he’d told the humans.

 _I could never find joy in arms other than yours_ , he’d said.

“What else did you tell them, Aziraphale?” he asked quietly, keeping his eyes fixed on the ducks. “The other book-dealers? About me? Us?”

The angel glanced over at him, smirking as he replied, “I told them that your driving is enough to scare any sane man to death.”

“Good thing you aren’t technically a man, then. For that matter, you’ve done some pretty insane things lately,” Crowley countered, smirking and miracling more bread into the bag they were feeding the ducks from.

Aziraphale looked down at it in surprise, then shrugged and passed over another roll. “I guess we’re staying longer, then?”

“Thought we might, yeah. Unless you have somewhere better to be, angel?”

“Not until lunch time, my dear, no.”

“Oh, of course.” Sniggering softly, Crowley returned his attention to the ducks. “Can’t miss lunch, can you?” 

“Can’t miss after-lunch drinks, can you?”

“Shut up, angel,” he suggested, grinning. 

“If you like, my dear,” Aziraphale agreed placidly.

They slipped into easy silence again after that, sometimes throwing bread into the water and sometimes just watching the birds paddle around. It was familiar. Everything else had been so new lately. The awareness that they were still sharing all their old, familiar traditions, as well as several new ones, moved something in Crowley. For just a moment, his eyes burned, and he made a show of adjusting his sunglasses to rub away the moisture that was treacherously accumulating there. Demons, of course, did not cry, but their eyes watered from time to time. For reasons completely unrelated to emotion. Allergies, probably. To saccharine, at a guess. 

He didn’t retrieve more bread after he was done with the current piece, just replayed their conversation and drank in his friend’s familiar presence. There was nothing really surprising in what the angel had told him, not exactly. They’d discussed it all before; only the use of words like ‘boyfriend’ and ‘family’ were really new. But words could be powerful things, especially after thousands of years of _not_ uttering them. It felt good, amazing, hearing Aziraphale say these things, but it would take getting used to. In the best possible way.

At first, he didn’t entirely register the slight whisper of… something against his knuckles, not until it was repeated. A quick, careful sideways glance told him that Aziraphale’s hand was much closer to his than was normal, then the angel’s fingers twitched, lightly brushing his again. Resisting the urge to smile, he turned his gaze to the ducks again. They had obviously realized that there was no more food forthcoming, so they moved away from the pair and towards a young girl sitting on the grass nearby. Watching the birds swarming her, he forced himself to remain still, not wanting to spook his angel. Cool skin brushed warm again, remaining in contact this time, knuckles pressing lightly against knuckles.

Crowley did have to smile this time, although he didn’t let himself react otherwise. It was the closest they’d come to displaying physical affection in public, and he had _not_ expected Aziraphale to make the first move on that front. But, now that his angel was trying to, Crowley was not about to do anything that might embarrass or startle him out of following through.

The problem with pretending not to pay attention to a thing was that it suddenly became hard to maintain a focus on anything else. Aziraphale’s skin was cool, and soft against his. Every time the angel’s hand moved, Crowley’s skin sparked at the barely-there pressure and friction of it. It was like being in contact with a live wire. A live wire that was tentatively making its way across the back of his hand. His smile widened as, finally, the angel’s fingers brushed the tender webbing between his thumb and index-finger. He turned his hand into the tentative touch, and Aziraphale let out a quiet breath, hand quickly closing around Crowley’s. 

His grip was firm, those neatly-manicured hands strong in a way that often surprised people who only knew Aziraphale as a soft, rather timid bookseller. Crowley knew better than to think that _any_ part of his lover was weak. He had seen the hand that was almost clinging to him right now swinging a sword in fearless defense of innocents. He’d seen Aziraphale’s shield, raised in defense one second and turned into a brutally efficient bludgeon the next. He’d seen those gentle, broad fingers wiping tears from the cheeks of frightened children. And he’d seen gentle caresses become feats of healing that would have exhausted many angels. Aziraphale had spent so long being underestimated, by so many, but Crowley had never been one to make that mistake. This person standing next to him now, this file clerk, turned security guard, turned bookseller was, when he cared to be, a strong, competent man: a loving friend and protector. To everyone, and sometimes even, more often than was healthy, his own enemies.

In the past, that had worried Crowley, Aziraphale’s compassion for the sorts of people it was dangerous to be compassionate _towards_. He’d once, millennia ago, made an attempt to counsel the angel against his kind, trusting attitude. He’d never forget the look Aziraphale had given him: probing and vaguely worried as he’d pointed out that most people would have warned him against tolerating a demon’s friendship. It wasn’t sarcastic, or even reproving, merely a bland statement of fact, but it had shaken Crowley to his core. After a slightly unnerving afternoon together, the angel studiously pretending not to notice his friend’s discomfort, the demon had retreated. For decades. Seven or eight of them, possibly more.

Then he’d realized, quite out of the blue one day, that Aziraphale had sought out his company many times but, never once in thousands of years, had he suggested he actually trusted Crowley in any way. It was absurd how comforting it was to realize that kindness and tolerance were not remotely the same as mindless trust, and that the kind-hearted angel was nobody’s fool. Well, he was Crowley’s fool, but that was different. 

Aziraphale could be good to someone, even enjoy their company, but never be fooled by the face that was presented to the world. The benefit of the doubt was not the same as blind faith. The angel tasked with guarding and protecting the human race would not allow himself to be tricked or taken advantage of, especially not after the first and only time he’d let his guard down, on the Garden wall. 

Maybe the demon had done him a favor in that way, teaching him vigilance. But, regardless, after he’d admitted to considering Crowley a friend, Aziraphale’s inherent goodness stopped being as alarming, and their friendship had taken a new direction. It had been Crowley who let his guard down after that: more confidences were exchanged, and more comfortable silences shared. Contact became more frequent over the years and, even if the angel hadn’t been able to trust him back then, Crowley had quickly grown to trust the angel, and then to love him.

So here he was, thousands of years and one aborted Apocalypse later, standing next to a lake and holding hands with an angel on a beautiful November morning. And it was glorious. Maddeningly, intoxicatingly wonderful.

Since he’d walked in on Aziraphale grooming himself, they’d touched each other a great deal. Fingers working their way through feathers, lips pressing against lips, arms wrapping familiarly around waists or shoulders, bare bodies pressing together innocently in ways that would have baffled many members of a species used to craving sex as a means towards immortality. But hand-holding simply wasn’t an intimacy they’d explored in great detail, and no romantic exchanges had occurred in public. Crowley had always considered hand-holding rather… _human_ as affectionate gestures went. The kind of gesture lovers only bothered with because they couldn’t touch each other with their minds or souls. And sometimes they’d use it when they were trying to tempt reluctant partners into something deeper. But it was surprisingly pleasant, and Crowley found himself savoring the honesty and connection of the simple gesture.

He’d asked Aziraphale for open affection, but not fully understood the significance of it beyond being a thing humans did while making unspoken declarations. It wasn’t like kissing or groping in public. It was… an innocent and completely genuine expression of something that began with love but ran impossibly deeper.

Standing silent with his angel, clasping hands and, before long, letting their fingers tangle together, he was both showing the world, and Heaven and Hell if they were watching, that they belonged to each other in a way that was physical, and shamelessly romantic. Both sides would have been struggling to keep their brains from leaking out of their ears at the display. If they’d seen what the two did in private or, worse, what the demon _imagined_ doing with his angel in private, heads might actually have exploded. Which would have been fun to watch. He chuckled, smiling over at Aziraphale.

“Hey, gorgeous…”

The angel gave him a Look, smiling and shaking his head. “Oh, stop that.”

“Stop?” he countered, playfully trying to tug his hand free of Aziraphale’s and snorting when the angel only squeezed harder in response. 

Reaching up and firmly caging Crowley’s hand in his, the angel whispered, “I love… holding your hand.”

“I knew that already, you beautiful thing.”

Aziraphale blinked at that, clearing his throat and remaining silent for a moment before squeezing the former angel’s hand again. 

“I’m not sure it’s appropriate to be playful, right now Crowley,” he murmured, feeling awkward, “I… I’ve been thinking and… realizing some things.”

Crowley’s mirth slipped away. “What things, angel?”

“Before we… Until recently, I could have counted on one hand the number of times we’d deliberately touched each other since we met.”

“Well…” He cleared his throat, mentally kicking himself over the false start but relaxing when he realized that Aziraphale didn’t actually seem to have noticed it. “We’re not exactly from cultures big on physical contact, are we?”

He’d wanted to touch Aziraphale for so long, so badly and on so many occasions. Nor had the impulse been entirely carnal, or even _mostly_ carnal. He’d just wanted a small token of the connection they’d never dared to call friendship. But angels didn’t generally welcome physical contact, not any more than demons did, if for entirely different reasons. It _was_ cultural. 

Humans could be unnerving in how casually physical they were: from sitting so close their bodies touched, to hugging and kissing as a form of greeting, to picking up the children of other humans and holding them close like living teddy-bears. 

Before Earth’s creation, angels had never considered that physical contact might have a purpose beyond the strictly utilitarian, especially since most of them didn’t have corporeal bodies. It was considered vaguely _rude_ to let your soul touch someone else’s. It was only done with permission, and for a good reason. And then the humans were kicked out of the Garden and the angels had gone from “what’s the point?” to “temptation, and thus damnation, lie down that road.” So, of course Crowley hadn’t tried to intentionally touch Aziraphale. The angel, entirely faithful to Heaven, would have recoiled in panic, at best, and in disgust or anger at worst.

And, if he was being honest, there was something in Crowley that had prevented it, too. Anyone who’d spent any time at all in Hell knew that touch could be an incredibly aggressive thing: an act that could be used to convey anger, hatred, control, or merely a desire to cause pain or humiliation. And there was the memory of the first time Crowley had been touched, in Heaven, and of the idea of anything like that happening to Aziraphale… 

He’d had to stay away, keep the angel at a safe distance.

“I didn’t mean to make you upset, dear,” the angel whispered abruptly, releasing his hand and moving to step in front of him, reaching up and cradling his cheeks in both hands, fingers tenderly stroking Crowley’s temples. “I just found myself wishing more had been possible. I know it wasn’t, I really do, and I don’t regret that the way I once did. But it’s lovely to think about, isn’t it? Freedom? Public freedom, private freedom, the freedom that only exists deep down if you’re brave enough to let it. It would have been nice.”

It _was_ nice to think about, the idea of what freedom would have been like twenty years ago, or a hundred, or a thousand. But, he didn’t let those fleeting imaginings distract him from the rest of the angel’s words. It was a nice fantasy, but just that. A fantasy. And it wouldn’t have been brave to indulge, just reckless. Leaning close, he rested his forehead lightly against Aziraphale’s, looping his arms around that invitingly huggable waist.

“Hey, what have I told you about implying that you aren’t brave, angel? You were ready to go up against the Man In Red with a flaming sword, remember?” 

He blushed, which was as charming as it always was and closed his eyes, whispering, “I’m starting to think there may be different kinds of bravery.”

“You’re right, there are. Some incredibly wise human, whose name I’ll remember in a minute, once said that denying yourself what you want, to do what you know is right, is the bravest thing you can do.” Technically, no human had ever told him any such thing, but the angel had opened his eyes again and was watching Crowley questioningly, so he plowed on. “You made yourself miserable for thousands of years because you thought it was the best thing for everyone. You loved me. You needed me, the way I needed you. We clung to each other even when it was dangerous for both of us. And then, with the End on its way, you refused to run away with me. Twice. You denied yourself eternity with the person you love. Because you were still convinced that, if you stayed here, you could save everyone. That’s beyond brave, angel. You could have kept yourself safe _and_ lived happily ever after, but you decided to stay here and fight impossible odds, completely on your own. If that’s not brave, I don’t know what it is.”

“Well, the word _stupid_ comes to mind,” Aziraphale answered wryly, wrapping his arms around Crowley’s waist and pressing that adorable snub nose against his throat. “But your point is taken. It was wrong and idiotic of me, but I suppose it can reasonably have been described as brave.” 

“Do you know what else was idiotic and brave?” Crowley added, unable to resist teasing a bit, “ _Not_ smiting the Fallen angel who slithered up the Walls of Eden to come harass you.” 

Aziraphale smiled against his throat, kissing his pulse, then drawing back enough to whisper, “I have endured much worse forms of harassment, I assure you. Besides, as we have long since established, I couldn’t have smote you, not once we met and talked.” 

“You could have before we met and talked,” he countered. “Probably should have done. And don’t give me that tosh about the difference between justice and vengeance. You could have, and you would have been entirely within your rights. But you didn’t. And giving a demon the benefit of the doubt is its own kind of bravery.” 

The angel made a soft noise in the back of his throat. It was probably meant to sound irritated, but just came across as being embarrassed. “Yes, yes, my love, your point is taken. Now are you quite done?” he asked, his voice testy but his smile sweetly shy.

“For the moment, sure. If only to avoid the whining I’ll hear if I don’t stop.”

They drew back, both laughing, and smiling warmly at each other for several long, comfortable moments. Aziraphale’s laughter finally faded, but his smile only grew as he reached up again to cradle Crowley’s face in his soft, cool hands again.

“Are you happy, my love?” the angel asked, not whispering despite the dozens of people within easy earshot. And, surprisingly, he didn’t even blush as he spoke the words. 

“There aren’t words for how happy you’ve made me these last few months,” he assured Aziraphale firmly. He really was turning into a sentimental tit, but how could he fail to? “I don’t care how long we had to hide and pretend, even when it was just the two of us. It was worth the wait. I’ve never been happier, Aziraphale. Not even when I was in Heaven.”

“I love you, Crowley.” 

As with his earlier words, these were clear and firm, like he genuinely didn’t care who heard them. Or as if he _wanted_ them to be heard. If he blushed this time, well, the habit of several thousand years could be hard to break. It was the gesture that counted, and the meaning behind it. Aziraphale was allowed to feel shy while he made it.

“I’ve loved you since before I knew what love was,” Crowley answered, aware that he was probably blushing, too. But that didn’t matter either. Nothing mattered right now, except this moment and these words.

“Eternity with you won’t be long enough,” Aziraphale murmured.

Crowley opened his mouth to answer but, before he could, the angel surged forward, capturing his lips in a tender kiss and tightening his hands against Crowley’s cheeks. Somewhere deep in his throat, he was making soft, peaceful noises. Their kisses were never passionate, and this was no exception, but that didn’t matter one bit. Like all the kisses Aziraphale gifted to him, this one was full of affection and… acceptance, welcome, connection. 

It was over too soon, Aziraphale drawing back with a soft sigh and glancing around the park for a moment before his eyes settled on the little girl he’d noticed earlier. Not more than eleven or twelve, and possibly younger, she was watching them with a sad, almost wistful expression and ignoring the ducks quacking hopefully at her.

“I’ll be right back,” Aziraphale whispered to Crowley, slowly approaching the girl with that smile of his, the one that could soothe the most frightened humans, and even pacify angry animals. Dropping to one knee a few feet in front of the girl, he greeted her. “Hello. Do you like flowers?”

She hesitated for a moment, expression wary and eyes darting around the park. A middle-aged woman was watching the exchange from a nearby bench, frowning slightly. Crowley couldn’t blame her; strange men approaching young children alone in the park seldom ended well. After a moment’s hesitation, the girl nodded, expression still a little unsure.

“I’ll bet your favorite is hibiscus?” Aziraphale asked, smiling. “The big blue ones?”

Biting her lip and looking startled, she nodded again. And, with a quick flick of Aziraphale’s wrist, a flower appeared in his hand, vividly blue and at least 10 centimeters across. Crowley gaped as the girl clapped excitedly at the trick. That had _not_ been sleight of hand, but a proper miracle. Aziraphale had, for what Crowley thought must have been the first time in his existence, used actual magic to replicate stage magic. Frowning, Crowley watched as the angel gravely presented the flower to her.

“The best thing about flowers, my dear,” he told her, “is that they grow in all kinds of different soils and climates, and each one is completely unique. No two are quite alike, but they’re _all_ beautiful in their own way, just like humans.”

Swallowing hard, she stared up at him with wide eyes, sniffling a bit and smiling gratefully up at him, like she’d been waiting forever to hear that bit of wisdom. “Thank you, sir.”

“Oh, it’s my pleasure, little one. If you press that between the pages of a book when you get home, you’ll have it for years. In the meantime, you can tuck it behind your ear and enjoy the fragrance,” he told her, climbing to his feet. “You have a wonderful day, dear. Lead the life you know you’re meant to, and allow it make you happy.” 

And, with that, he returned to Crowley’s, smiling as the girl stared down at the flower in her hands, beaming. 

“Let’s go home?” Aziraphale suggested to Crowley, giving the girl a little wave as he started to move away. The woman who was either the mother or the babysitter frowned more deeply at them as they passed, but also looked relieved that the strange men were leaving. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered when they were well away, “did you just stop kissing me to tell a kid that it’s okay to be gay when she grows up? And use a miracle to do it?”

“Yes. Yes, I did,” he answered nodding faintly and sliding his fingers through Crowley’s. “She needed to hear it. Besides, if anyone knows what it feels like to be scared when you find yourself loving the wrong person, it’s me. Crowley, I… I spent a lot of time denying who I actually was, and terrified of my own feelings and impulses. For so long, I thought my love was wrong and dangerous, even sinful. No one should have to suffer through feelings like that. So I told her what she needed to hear. Hopefully it gave her some peace of mind.”

“That woman looked ready to start beating you with her purse and calling the police,” Crowley pointed out.

“I could have taken care of the mother, too. And I never laid a hand on the child, so I doubt it would have come to that. I just… Don’t you ever feel the urge to get up to a bit of mischief, even though you don’t work for Hell any more?”

“Mmm,” he conceded with a shrug. “I guess you’ll always feel the need to do good.”

“It’s what I am, what I was made for, my dear. I may have spent a long time struggling with my identity in some ways, but I’ve never doubted that I was made to help and, when I can, guide others.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed, squeezing Aziraphale’s hand as they walked. “You, uh… you didn’t feel uncomfortable, did you? All this, in public? Holding hands? Hugging? Kissing?”

“Not in the least. You’ve been so kind and patient with me, my love, and made it much easier for me to reconcile myself to the loss of Heaven. Easier than I could have imagined it being, even a few months ago. I don’t think I’ve ever felt unconditionally accepted before. It’s so wonderful. I feel different, stronger,” Aziraphale whispered, leaning into him a bit as they walked. “I won’t thank you, but I do need you to know how much gratitude I feel towards you for all your support and encouragements.”

“I love you, too,” Crowley answered, even though his angel hadn’t said it out loud. This time.

They didn’t _need_ to say it out loud any more, although they both enjoyed doing so. There were a hundred other ways to show it, some new, and some almost as old as Time itself.

“Shall we do a bit of shopping today?” Aziraphale offered, in yet another gesture of love and welcome. “We can start deciding what plants we want on the roof. It’s a small space, but I’m sure that, with your expertise, we can turn it into something special.”

“Well, it’s no nebula, but you’re right,” Crowley agreed, unable to resist the urge to grin from ear to ear. “We always did our best work together.”

“And we always will, my love,” Aziraphale assured him, giving his hand a final squeeze, then releasing it so he could climb into the Bentley. 

~~~~~  
  
Crowley’s driving truly was enough to drive a man to distraction, but an angel could just about bear it, if he focused all of his attention on the driver instead of the driving. Which, as Aziraphale had started to realize, became easier and easier with each passing day.

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> Just for the record, feeding bread to ducks isn't very good for them and IRL you should stick to things like cracked corn, millet, etc. 
> 
> It's okay when the ineffable duo do it, though, because they can miracle it into something much better for duck tummies.


End file.
